


he feels like he's finally home

by oh_no_oh_dear



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-07-26 00:02:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7552351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_no_oh_dear/pseuds/oh_no_oh_dear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a series of short Samsteve, Sambucky, and Samstevebucky drabbles, inspired by my exhausted mind or fic prompts. some are sweet, some are sad, some are about diiiiick. I'm multi-faceted like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you wouldn't understand

**Author's Note:**

> Very short Samsteve drabble. 
> 
> A lot of ugly shit is happening in the world right now, and if you think Sam Wilson, community activist, doesn't care... you don't know Sam Wilson.

    Steve is half-asleep, draped over Sam, when the call comes at 3:27 am. It’s a bitterly cold night and they’re both under a thick comforter; Steve doesn’t really need it, but he knows Sam gets cold and Steve’s high body temperature keeps them both warm at night.  
  
    He’s awake immediately, but it’s not his phone for once. Sam mumbles sleepily from under the cover, his arm emerging from the rumpled comforter to grope blindly for his phone.  
  
    “Wilson.” His voice is sleep-tired, hoarse. He coughs a couple of times, listening to the person on the other end.  
“Andre? Hey-- hey, hey. No, hey, slow down.” Sam sits up, pushing the covers off of him as he rubs at his eyes. Steve half-props himself up, noting the sudden urgency in his lover’s voice.  
  
“No. No, no. I said anytime, and I mean it, man. You gotta hold on, ok? Don’t do-- no, please. _Please,_ Andre, just gimme… 10 minutes. Okay? Let’s just talk, all right?” Sam’s voice remains steady, but he’s up now, hastily pulling on his jeans and looking for his wallet.  
  
“Yeah. 10 minutes. Promise. Please, just gimme-- okay. See you. Hang on.”  
  
Steve’s up too, swinging his legs out of the bed.  
    “Sam? Everything ok?”  
  
Sam looks up from shoving his phone in his pocket and then shakes his head, his expression unreadable in the dark room.        
  
    “Nah. Not really.”

    “What’s wrong?”  
  
Sam doesn’t speak at first, flicking on the bedside lamp and walking over to their closet. “You wouldn’t understand,” he says quietly. He bends and pulls out his wingpack, hoisting it onto his shoulders. He hides the twinge in his lower back as the weight settles on him. “I gotta go.” He looks at his phone. “Shit. 7 minutes.”  
  
    “I’ll come with you, Sam.” Steve’s already almost dressed, reaching for his shield.  
  
    “No… it’s work. _My_ work. Personal. I’ll call if I need backup.” He doesn’t even take the front door, doesn’t grab a coat or a jacket despite the cold. He just opens their large window and leaps out, trusting his wings. He’s soon a silhouette against the moon, swiftly heading towards the city.  
  
    Steve frowns. Sam usually doesn’t mind Steve looking out for him, but he’s been tense and on edge all day, not responding to Steve’s repeated inquiries about what was wrong. Steve is now fully awake and uneasy, pacing the length of the bedroom. He wants to follow Sam, make sure he’s safe; but he told him to wait.  
  
    Steve heaves a sigh as he turns on their shared laptop, intending to get some late-night work done, but he pauses as he sees the articles Sam had been reading before bed. Steve slowly puts down his shield and begins reading. Report after report, videos, Tweets, horrible pictures. Steve had seen a lot of horror in his time. He’d also slept through a lot of it, having to catch up through reading history books and watching documentaries… but now it was happening again, right in front of his eyes. In front of _Sam’s_ eyes.  
  
    Sam had never stopped working with his community, even between his life as an Avenger and a counselor. If he wasn’t on a mission with Steve, he was at the DVA. If he wasn’t there, he was in his old neighbourhood, heading up programmes and helping his old friends and neighbours. He did all of it, even the ugly stuff, with a sense of duty and compassion.  
  
    Today, Sam had spent the whole day either on the laptop or on his phone, fielding a flurry of calls. As the day wore on, his shoulders began looking more and more tense, his entire demeanour becoming more closed off. He’d gently moved away from Steve at night, not even wanting to make love-- one of his favourite things to do when it was cold.

 

    Steve has been sitting there for almost an hour now, not remembering to close the window, not noticing the cold or the snow silently drifting inside.  
  
_Two More Killed In Shooting; Race Main Motivator, Say Protestors_  
  
    It had happened in Sam’s old neighbourhood. He hadn’t said a word to Steve about it. He wasn’t sure why; did Sam think he wouldn’t understand? _Can I?_ It was a war within his own damn country, he's Captain America, and he feels powerless. How does _Sam_ feel?  
  
He wants to go after Sam. He’s just about decided to ignore his request and do so when his phone finally blips.  
  
_Sam: I need you._  
  
Steve’s feet hit the snowy ground outside even before his reply finishes sending.  
  
    _Rogers: On my way._

 

    When he finds Sam, he’s sitting on the steps in front of the DVA. His breath mists in the dark night, and he’s staring at his hands. He looks up when Steve approaches.  
  
    “Are you okay?” Steve asks, lowering himself onto the step beside Sam. A quick lookover reveals that Sam seems physically unhurt, but he's shaken. Fidgety.  
  
    “Yeah.” Sam pauses. “Shit. No.”  
  
    “What happened?”  
  
    “The guy who called me. Andre. Didn’t… don’t know him too well. Grew up down the street from me, but he was… is… younger than me. Ran with a different crowd.”  
  
Steve is quiet, listening. He wants to take Sam’s hand, press his lips to his cold knuckles.  
  
    “He came to the DVA sometime last year,” Sam says. “Didn’t know he’d served. Know what he says to me? He says… he says he went because of _me_. Said… says if I could make it out, he could.”  
  
    “He looks up to you.”  
  
    “I … yeah. I dunno. I guess. So he comes to the DVA. Seen some _shit._ But he talks. Opens up a little. But yesterday…” Sam pauses, gathering himself.  
“Steve. I dunno if you've kept up with the news, but--”  
  
    “I have. It’s…” Steve searches for the right words. “... a horror show.”  
  
Sam scoffs, a translucent puff of white emerging from his mouth. “You could say that. Well… someone died tonight. Someone he knew. His cousin. And I think it was just too much for him, after everything else.”  
  
Steve reaches for Sam’s hand, grateful when the other man doesn’t pull away.  
  
    “So tonight, Andre called. He was gonna… I dunno. He wanted to end it. I almost didn’t make it in time.” Sam’s voice trembles only slightly, betraying the repressed feelings roiling in his stomach.  
  
    “Jesus, Sam. Is he…”  
  
    “He’s ok. Not happy about it, but alive.” Sam’s fingers squeeze Steve’s, tightly enough that it would hurt a normal person. Not Steve. “We’re going through a… fucking _trauma_ right now, and no one cares.” His voice is low, quiet. Steve doesn’t ask who ‘we’ refers to. He knows.  
  
    “I care.”  
  
    “I know. I do. You care…” Now, Sam looks at Steve, his face a mask of pain and deep exhaustion. “But you can’t _understand_ , not really.”  
  
Steve squashes the urge to disagree. _Just listen._  
  
    “You wanna talk?”  
  
Sam hesitates. He’s not sure this is a topic for someone like Steve. But then… then maybe Steve is the _perfect_ audience for this.  
  
    “Okay. I’ll talk. But you only listen, ok?”  
  
    “Got it.”  
  
    “It’s not always gonna be pretty. It might make you defensive.”  
  
    “I said I had your back, Sam, and I meant it. I’m listening.”

 

Curled around each other in their slightly too-small bed, Sam talks long into the morning, and Steve listens.


	2. he wanted this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam/Steve and Bucky. Sam and Steve try something new. Bucky helps.
> 
> (not much plot here, just dicks and dikz and dix)

    “You’re tense, Sam.”  
  
Sam let out a slow, shaky breath that he didn’t even realise he’d been holding. Of course he was tense. Behind him, Steve rubbed his arm, murmuring soothingly. Sam had wanted this. Steve had been surprised that his boyfriend was interested in something like this, but… luckily, he’d known a guy.  
  
    “Breathe, Sam.”  
  
Steve’s fingers brushed across Sam’s bare chest, making him shiver slightly. _I wanted this._   
  
    “You don’t have to do this,” Steve continued, his voice low and quiet in Sam’s ear. Truthfully, Sam was a little nervous. But he wanted this. He wasn’t about to back down. He moaned a little, knowing Steve would understand-- _don’t stop._  
  
Pressing a kiss to Sam’s shoulder, Steve firmly gripped the man’s hip and continued to slowly press in, his lard length making the line between pain and pleasure razor-thin for Sam-- just the way he liked it. Steve groaned quietly as Sam pressed back against him, feeling Sam relax bit by bit -- and he glanced over at the end of the bed.  
  
    “You okay, Buck?”   
  
Bucky, wearing nothing but a smirk, nodded as he watched the two. Sam raised his head slightly to look at Bucky… and tensed up again.  
  
    “Ahh--”  
  
    “Sam… easy, easy. Relax. We’re going slow,” Steve murmured. He knew that Sam was equal parts excited and nervous for what they were planning-- especially since it involved Bucky, a man that he just barely trusted. But he’d suspected that Bucky might be game… the way he watched Sam, the way he eyed him and Steve together; not with jealousy, but interest.

    “Steve,” Sam breathed, forcing himself to relax a little, “I think I wanna… y’know.”  
  
Steve just hummed knowingly; part of the game was getting Sam to clearly voice his desires. A pretty big challenge, but one that Steve greatly enjoyed. Hearing Sam’s low voice whisper that he wanted it deeper… or he wanted Steve in his mouth…   
  
    “You have to say it, Sam.” Steve knew damn well that Sam would be even more reticent with Bucky watching and listening-- but then he’d known that was half the fun.   
  
    “I want…”   
  
    “Mhm?”   
  
    “I want him to see,” Sam said, trailing off into a moan as Steve hit just the right spot inside him.   
  
    “Want him to see what, Sam?” Steve asked, sharing a look with Bucky. Bucky was unknowingly biting his lower lip, his arousal evident as he shifted to kneel on the bed.   
  
    “Want him to see…”   
  
    “Say it.”   
  
    “Want him to see us.”   
  
Those were the magic words. In a practiced move, Steve rolled without removing himself from Sam so that Sam was now laying on top, his back pressed against Steve’s chest. Sam breathed in sharply as Steve shifted inside him, but he knew what to do next; he drew his knees up and hooked them through his bent elbows as Steve began to pick up his rhythm again.   
  
Bucky got a full view of Steve fucking Sam.   
  
    “This what you wanted, Sam?” Steve said, finally sounding a little breathy. The low tortured sound that escaped from Sam’s throat said it all. Bucky’s hand was busy, stroking himself as he watched the scene in front of him with glassy-eyed attention. He’d known that his interest in Sam hadn’t gone unnoticed, but this… this was more than he could have ever hoped for.   
  
    “Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, stilling his hand; he’d almost come already, watching Sam and Steve. At the sound, Sam lifted his head again, but gone was the slight anxiety of before. Now, the look he gave Bucky sent heat through his body.   
  
    “B...Barnes. C’mere,” Sam managed, jerking his chin at Bucky. Bucky raised his eyebrows questioningly as he moved closer, his eyes locked on Sam’s.   
  
    “Kiss him, Buck,” Steve said. “You won’t be disappointed.”   
  
Sam half-smiled, causing a slight jolt somewhere in the vicinity of Bucky’s lower stomach that had nothing to do with horniness. He leaned down tentatively, but Sam was surprisingly eager, angling up to meet him, finally emitting a low moan when Bucky kissed him deeply. Steve had been right; Sam was even more responsive now, moaning softly into Bucky’s mouth, arching his back slightly as Steve found the perfect angle and mercilessly went at it. All the air seemed to leave the room as the three men became entangled in a sweaty mess--

Bucky’s hand somehow finding its way onto Sam’s cock, making him cry out--  
  
Steve groaning loudly as he came… no pause in action was necessary for him, the super soldier serum having had some ...unintended side effects--   
  
Sam’s voice was clear above all the moans and panting: “I’m ready.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Bucky’s hands were slick as his fingers moved, and Steve was sure that Sam would have something to say about lube all over his nice sheets, but he was… preoccupied at the moment. Sam and Steve were now on their sides, Sam facing Steve and squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to relax; Bucky’s fingers were slowly pressing into him, stretching him gently as Steve’s cock remained in him. The intense sensation made him wince a few times -- _I wanted this_ \-- but Bucky always paused and soothed him, kissing his neck and shoulders the way he’d seen Steve do, always waiting for Sam to give the signal to continue. It was taking a long time, but Steve had no problem maintaining an erection and he was carefully watching Sam’s face for any signs of genuine pain…   
  
Sam’s eyelids fluttered a little as he moaned, and Steve smirked over Sam’s shoulder at Bucky.  “I think we’re good, Buck. Sam?”   
  
    “Oh, _fuck--_ ” Sam was moving slightly, trying to fuck himself on Steve’s cock and Bucky’s fingers.   
  
    “I’ll take that as a yes,” Bucky murmured, giving himself a few good strokes to get back to full hardness. Sam breathed out slowly, preparing himself as he felt Bucky move behind him. It took a bit of awkward maneuvering, but Sam soon heard Bucky breathing quietly in his ear.  
  
    “You okay, Sam?”   
  
    “Yeah.”   
  
    “Okay…” Bucky placed his metal hand on Sam’s hip, the touch surprisingly gentle, as he used his other hand to guide his cock to Sam, slowly pressing into his already-full entrance--   
  
Sam’s breath caught in his throat at the same time Steve moaned, feeling Bucky sliding against him within the tight heat of Sam. Bucky paused, letting Sam relax again, his slightly cool fingers rubbing small comforting circles on Sam’s hot skin. Sam was frowning deeply, on the brink of pain-- it was so much, so intense-- but he’d wanted it.  Still wanted it. And ever the doting boyfriend, Steve was giving it to him.  
  
    “Okay,” he said, his voice slightly shaky. “I’m good.”   
  
Steve kissed Sam deeply as Bucky agonizingly slowly pressed in, pausing to slather more thick lube on himself-- and Sam made a sound that almost sounded like a sob. Bucky stopped, but Steve was watching Sam again. He knew that sound. _Jackpot._   
  
    “You’re good, Buck,” Steve said. He was breathing a little heavily, the sensation of Sam’s tight heat, Bucky’s smooth cock moving against him… _I might not last long._   
  
Bucky continued his movement, after making sure that the little pained sounds Sam was making were of the positive nature, and finally reached as far as he could go. He was shaking slightly, overstimulated and barely keeping it together as Sam’s moans became louder and longer.   
  
    “Okay, Sam? Want… us to continue?” Steve, usually cool-headed in the bedroom, was losing his ability for rational thought. When Sam had requested trying double-penetration with another man, Steve had googled it just to be sure they were on the same page-- and had found himself staring wide-eyed at a lot of porn.   
  
It had seemed crazy.   
  
It _felt_ amazing.   
  
    “Yes-- _fuck_ \--” Sam breathed, his entire body feeling like a live wire. “Go slow.”   
  
Steve moved first, setting a slow, languorous pace; Bucky, ever in-tune with his best friend, matched a counter-pace, sliding against Steve as they both fucked Sam. Sam could barely breathe, sandwiched as he was between the two men, but he barely noticed. The sounds the two of them were making in his ear, how close he could feel them getting (and Steve usually lasted a ridiculous amount of time), the fullness of having them both inside him… it _just_ teetered on the wrong side of ‘too much,’ but they were being slow, gentle, and Steve was equally slowly stroking Sam’s cock through it all--   
  
When Steve’s cock hit his prostate, Sam literally saw white. From the others’ perspective, he gave a sort of strangled cry and clenched hard around them both, making them pause to keep from hurting him. It was too much, too much and not enough and it seemed to go on and on and he heard Bucky swear in another language and he heard Steve hiss as though in pain and--   
  
Steve was breathing heavily-- panting, really-- as he fought not to come yet… but Sam had just had multiple orgasms, his noises ripping through Steve-- and he’d bitten Steve, hard enough to draw blood. That alone was enough to make him come, but then Bucky swiftly followed Sam, groaning long and low and saying some truly filthy things in Russian.   
  
But what really did it was when Sam’s eyelids fluttered open and he gave Steve a slow, sexy, blissed-out smile. Steve didn’t last after that.   
  
\---   
  
Sam was slumped in bed as if boneless, his eyes half-closed as he watched Bucky pull on his pants. Steve was sitting up beside him, exchanging pleasantries with his friend as though they hadn’t just had their dicks in Sam not an hour ago.   
  
    “...so we’ll go by Georgie’s, I hear his grandson runs the place now,” Bucky was saying. Steve grinned.   
  
    “If Sam’s up to trying out some questionable steak and fries, I’m in.” He glanced down at Sam, who was barely conscious by then.   
  
    “Mngh. Steak, fries, whatever. If I can _walk_ by then.”   
  
Bucky’s laugh was low as he raised a hand in farewell. Sam struggled and then failed to sit up, wincing slightly.   
  
    “Barnes,” he called. Bucky looked back, already halfway out the bedroom door.   
  
    “Sam.”   
  
    “ ...you’re all right, Barnes.”   
  
Bucky winked at Sam. “Not half-bad yourself, bird boy.”   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because there's not enough bottom!Sam fic, y'all. Don't worry, he gets kissed and cuddled after.


	3. there's socially awkward and then there's THIS asshole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt #1: Sam/Bucky - "I have no idea what you're talking about"
> 
> Bucky's not great at flirting, you guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I asked for writing prompts, and I got 'em! This was posted over at my [tumblr](sweet-coffee-jelly.tumblr.com/), so I'm popping it over here as well :3

Sam nearly had a goddamn heart attack the first time he woke up to find a huge knife on the pillow beside him, and spent the whole day jumping at small noises. His cat, Queenie, didn’t appreciate being woken up every half hour, and she told him so by sinking her teeth into his arm when he picked her up.   
  
He called Steve, who was concerned but clueless as to where the knife had come from. He checked and changed all the locks, added more chains to the door, and set the alarm (for once.) After he had a few words with Queenie about maybe not being a huge bitch for once, he _knew_ she didn’t like the diet cat food but she was a beach ball on little cat legs and it wasn’t _healthy_ \--  
  
He fell into a fitful sleep.   
  
\---  
  
The next morning, a pair of brass knuckles were nestled on his pillow like terrifying hotel chocolates.   
  
Sam checked the locks again (they were all still intact), the alarm hadn’t registered anything--  
  
Sam stayed up all night, drinking coffee and twitching as he watched Netflix. Queenie reacted to this change in routine by throwing up on his bed.  
  
\---  
  
Two days later, a small donut box was left at his front door. Sam nudged it nervously with a broom, and when it didn’t explode, he risked gingerly opening it (his mama always said he had more nerve than sense, which explained a _lot_ about his friendship with Steve.) Inside, a jelly donut had spilled its contents everywhere, a gory pastry death that had Sam confused and more than a little bit worried. If someone was trying to make him uneasy, it was working.  
  
Queenie yowled and pawed at Sam’s leg, smelling the sugary food that she was definitely not allowed to eat, get _down_ dammit--  
  
\---   
  
A week had passed with little incident. Steve had dropped by and had a look at the knife, brass knuckles and donut box. He had no idea what was going on, but he promised to keep an eye on the place and make sure that no one came after Sam.   
  
He wasn’t even gone an hour and a half before he was back at Sam’s house, knocking loudly at the door. At Steve’s side, looking sullen and strangely shy, was Bucky.  
  
Sam hadn’t seen Bucky in _months_.   
  
The three of them just stared at each other for a few awkward moments.   
  
    “Buck, tell him,” Steve sighed, looking for all the world like an exhausted father.   
  
Bucky just mumbled and held out a small ziploc bag, which Sam took.   
  
    “What the fuck…?” Inside were two things: a small brown fruit of some kind, and a wrinkled post-it with a question mark written on it.  
  
There was another long pause. Steve pinched the bridge of his nose before nudging Bucky hard with his elbow.  
  
    “Uhm. Well?” Bucky gestured at the ziploc bag and Sam looked between him and the bag with the beginnings of a headache.  
  
    “Well, _what_?”  
  
    “Well, _that._ ” Bucky gestured to the bag again.   
  
    “........Barnes, I have _no idea what you’re talking about._ ”  
  
    “That’s… it’s a date.”   
  
Sam held up the bag and squinted. The small brown fruit was, indeed, a date.  
  
    “Uh. It’s… a date, and… you can have-- do you… want?”  
  
    “ _What?_ ” Sam had seen things that the average civilian would ‘Nope’ right out of, but he was totally at sea.   
  
And then it clicked.   
  
    “....you’re asking if I want to go on a date. With a goddamn ziploc bag and a post-it.”  
  
    “No-- I mean. There was other stuff.”  
    
    “What other--” and then it clicked _again_. “Barnes, did you break into my house and leave _weapons_ in my bedroom?”  
  
    “Yeah!” He sounded proud, and was clearly unaware that he was about to catch some primo certified organic locally-sourced Wilson Hands™.   
  
    “Why… the fuck… would you do that?”  
  
Bucky frowned now, surprised that Sam didn’t pick up on what he had been putting down (so to speak.)   
“You gotta be careful. You should take care of yourself and you didn’t have enough knives…”  
  
    “And the brass knuckles?”  
  
    “Those were _cool_. Thought you’d like ‘em.”  
  
    “The donut--”  
  
    “I had too many an’ I … you like jelly donuts so I left you one.”  
  
Steve sighed long and low, shaking his head at Sam. _See the shit Captain America has to deal with?_   
  
    “Bucky,” Sam said, his voice suddenly warm, “Thanks, man. Y’know what-- come in.”  
  
Sam left the door open, walking casually back to his kitchen with the air of a man with a plan.   
  
Steve, exchanging a slightly confused glance with Bucky, followed after Sam. He was trying on the brass knuckles, flexing his fingers and smiling dangerously.  
  
    “Okay, Barnes. Time to test these babies out.”  
  
    “Wh--”  
  
    “Nahhh, you don’t break into my house and scare the shit out of me and just _walk_ ,” Sam said, grinning. Steve looked between the two of them and suddenly found a mighty need to make some coffee on the other side of the kitchen.  
  
    “Sam, you’re joking, right?”  
  
    “...............”  
  
Bucky grimaced. His social cues were a little bit fucked up, it was true, but he’d thought he was being _romantic_ , dammit.  
  
    “Okay. If I let you punch me once, will you come on a date with me?”  
  
    “Maybe.”  
  
    “Gotta be a ‘yes’ or no punching.”  
  
    “Fine, but make it dinner somewhere nice.”  
  
    “Done.”  
  
    “Okay. Square up.”  
  
    “ _Or_ ,” Steve said loudly, “we could order a couple pizzas and play some poker.”  
  
Sam pretended to scowl as he shrugged and moved past Bucky to go back to the kitchen.   
  
    “Don’t look so scared, Barnes. Wasn’t gonna hit ya.”  
  
Bucky had a smug little smirk on his face before Sam even finished his sentence.  
  
    “I know.”  
  
\---  
  
The next morning, Sam woke up with a snoring Bucky Barnes on his pillow.  
  
  



	4. mr. wrong (key)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt #2: Sam/Bucky: “Mr. Wrong” by Mary J Blige.
> 
> Bucky unleashes a whole new torture method.

Sam tightened his grip on Bucky’s arm, knowing damn well that it would do nothing to stop him from his mission.  
  
    “Barnes, don't do this, man. It's not worth it,” he hissed at the man next to him. Bucky shrugged him off easily, an unsettling look of determination carved in every line of his face.  
“Barnes-- Bucky, _please,_ man, I'm beggin' you--”  
  
    “I gotta do this, Sam. Stay outta my way.”  
  
Bucky stood and Sam felt a thrill of true fear as Bucky locked eyes on his target. It would all be over in a second, and there was nothing Sam could do to stop it--  
  
    “Aww shit, I don't have a quarter.” Bucky patted his jeans pockets and Sam huffed a sigh of relief, lifting his beer to take a long drink.  
  
    “I got a quarter, Buck,” Steve said, leaning across the table to press a handful of change into Bucky's outstretched hand. Sam shot Steve a filthy look.  
  
    “Why, _why_ did you do that?” he groaned. Bucky grinned wickedly and stalked off to inflict untold damage on them all.  
  
    “Because it's not every day that I get the drop on _you_ ,” Steve said smugly, leaning back in his booth. Sam just scowled and took another gulp of beer. _Shit.  
  
_     “ _This one is for you, baby_. _"_  
  
 _No no no **no  
  
**_ Steve looked like he might have a coronary from his repressed laughter as Bucky leaned toward the mic again.   
  
    “ _This song is dedicated to my boyfriend–_ ”  
  
    “Oh please please no,” Sam was chanting under his breath, sliding down in his booth.  
  
    “– _your smile melts my heart, baby. You make every day better than the last–_ ”  
  
    “Oh god he’s _such a piece of shit_.” Sam groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Bucky damn well knew that Sam hated PDA, and he was going to make Sam _suffer_ because he was a _fucking asshole_.  
  
    “… _every day…_ ” Bucky dropped his voice an octave, sounding husky and flirtatious. “… _and every_ _ **night**_ _.”  
  
_ Sam’s glare had no effect on Steve, who was positively sobbing with how hard he was laughing.   
  
_“Hope this song makes you feel as good as you make **me** feel, baby.”_  
Bucky paused dramatically, lifting the microphone to his lips as the other bar patrons cheered.   
 _“Don’t it seem like, like I’m always there when it matters… But missing most of the other time, a terrible pattern …”_  
  
Sam wanted to fling himself bodily at the stage, rip the mic out of Bucky’s stupid robot hand, and set that damn karaoke machine on fire. Bucky was half a beat behind Drake, he was getting half the lyrics wrong because he was _drunk_ and an _asshole_ , and he was doing … whatever it is that white boys thought rappers did with their hands.  
  
 _“And I’m always her regret, yeah, I’m always her regret, and I always make it harder on whoever’s coming next… It goes up and down, it’s just up and –”  
    
_    “Steve, fuck you _and_  your li’l tincan friend,” Sam half-shouted to be heard over the caterwauling from the stage. The other bar patrons, who were mostly drunk off their asses ($2 Tequila Tuesdays were _the worst_ ) were wooping and hollering and just… encouraging this mess.   
  
Steve knocked back a shot that would have no effect on him, coughing slightly as the cheap alcohol burned its way down his throat.   
“You secretly love when he does this, Sam, admit it.”  
  
    “You must secretly want your ass beat,” Sam muttered. He opened his mouth to say something else, but was distracted by the sound of someone being brutally murdered on stage.  
  
Oh, wait, no, Bucky was ‘singing.’ He’d adopted a wavering falsetto, and any hope of being in the right key (or any key at all) had long left the building.  
  
 _“Bad boys aint no gooooood… Good boys aint no fuuuun…”  
  
_ Sam leaned across the table and snatched Steve’s next shot of tequila right out of his hand, downing it swiftly. _I need to be drunk right now immediately right away  
  
_ Steve was laughing– no, _cackling_ – and clapping along, almost back on the beat with how off the beat he was.   
  
 _“–be kissing and touching on me–”  
_ _  
Jesus deliver me  
  
    “I can’t help but love him–”  
_ _  
I will give up all my earthly possessions and move to the mountains if this stops  
  
    “I must be out of my mind–”  
  
_The girls at the table near them were shrieking and shoving at each other as they sang along, also not terribly concerned with finding the correct key. Sam’s music-loving heart couldn’t take much more.  
  
 _“Aint no way that I’m moving on… I love my Mr Wrong…”_ Bucky warbled, his eyes squeezed shut as he got way, _way_ too into ruining miss Mary’s beautiful tune.  
“ _You’re my Mr._ _ **Right**_ _, Sam baby,”_ he simpered breathily, unable to resist even one opportunity to be a dickhead.  
  
    “Fuck you, Barnes!”  
  
    “Love you too, baby."  
  
  



	5. going to the opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, they're THAT couple now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tumblr prompt: "Bucky is really nervous because he’s meeting Sam’s family for the first time"
> 
> Also, I decided Sam’s background is Caribbean. What you goan do bout it? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

      
    “Bucky. Bucky.”  
  
    “Barnes.”  
  
    “BUCKY _FUCKIN’_ BARNES.”  
  
Bucky looked up, blinking a few times. Sam gave him a disbelieving look and gestured downwards, at the sandwich that Bucky had been making. (Well, it _had_ been the beginnings of a sandwich-- what it was now was a mass of red jam with a piece of bread peeking sadly from underneath it.)  
  
    “Listen, baby, if you’re gonna buy the expensive raspberry jam, you can’t use all of it on one goddamn sandwich,” Sam laughed. Bucky didn’t smile back, just frowning down at his hand; he’d been distractedly slathering the stuff on the bread for at least 3 minutes.  
“Okay… we zoning out or _zoning out_?” Sam asked, his voice a little more gentle. Bucky shook his head.   
  
    “I’m not-- it’s not like. A flashback.”  
  
Sam relaxed a little, but he still looked concerned. “You okay?”  
  
Bucky started to nod as he screwed the jam jar’s lid back on, but he then gave his head a vigorous shake. _No_.  
  
    “So we’re _not_ okay. What’s up?” Sam and Bucky (known to their friends by now as ‘ _Samandbucky_ ’) always found themselves using ‘we’ when one of them wasn’t feeling great-- _You’re not alone. I’m here. We’re here.  
  
_ Bucky just mumbled, but Sam caught it and couldn’t keep a snort of laughter down. Bucky looked mutinous.   
  
    “‘S _not funny_ ,” he muttered.  
  
    “It’s a _little_ funny.”  
  
    “You’re a terrible boyfriend.”  
  
    “I’m the best.” Sam took the butter knife from Bucky’s hand and licked some of the excess jam off (he’d picked up some of Bucky’s more unsavoury habits, although he’d fight anyone who pointed that out.) “You’re scared of my _mom_. That’s hilarious.”  
  
    “I didn’t-- I’m not scared, asshole, I’m _nervous_ , there’s a difference.”  
  
The look on Sam’s face might have been sympathy. Maybe.  
  
    “She’s 5ft nothing, a little church lady, and her weapon is hugs that might crack a rib,” Sam said, smiling gently. Bucky made a face.   
  
    “You also told me that she broke a mugger’s wrist.”  
  
    “Well… she’s _my_ mom. She can take care of herself… unless you’re planning to mug her, you’ll be fine.”  
  
    “You’ve got jam on your mouth,” Bucky said, finally cracking the smallest smile. Sam rolled his eyes.  
  
    “Stop changing the sub--” the rest of the sentence was cut off as Bucky leaned forward and ran his tongue across Sam’s lower lip, giving it a sharp nip afterwards. Sam looked nonplussed for a split second before slipping his hands around Bucky’s waist, humming low in his throat. He moved forward just enough to brush his lips across Bucky’s, drawing out a soft groan from the other man before he insistently pressed against his hips.  
  
    “Think you got jam on my shirt,” Bucky said, his voice already a little rough as he buried his face in Sam’s neck and lightly scraped his teeth across the sensitive skin there. Sam shivered.  
  
    “Then let’s get it off.”  
  
\---  
  
    “Shit, I’m gettin’ fucking fat,” Bucky murmured, scowling down at the swell of the slight paunch he’d started developing recently. Sam scoffed and trailed his fingers down Bucky’s stomach, taking his time.   
  
    “Means you’re eating good food, and since I do most of the cooking--”  
  
    “Hey, I cook…”  
  
    “Sorry-- I meant most of the _good_ cooking… it’s a compliment.” Bucky exhaled a half-laugh, and Sam looked up from resting his head on his lover’s bare chest.  
“Bucky. I love all of this, okay?” he lightly touched Bucky’s stomach, delicately traced the little bulges of fat that had started to settle at the tops of his hips. Bucky opened his mouth, frowning, but Sam cut him off. “Shut the fuck up. I mean it. All of it. All of _you_.”   
  
    “I’m-- Okay.”  
  
    “Okay?”  
  
    “Yeah.”  
  
    “I mean it. I’m bein’ sappy here, Barnes. Real vulnerable and sweet and all that shit.”  
  
    “I know. Who are you and what’d you do with Sam?”  
  
Sam just smiled and moved to kneel next to Bucky on the bed, leaning down to trail kisses down his chest and stomach. “I don’t feel like I convinced you yet,” he murmured. Bucky’s groan of desire was his only answer.  
  
    “Wait-- wh-what time are w- _fuuuuck, fuck_ \-- what time we goin’ to... your mom’s...?”  
  
Sam looked up, a look of _Are you fucking kidding me?_ written on his face.  
  
    “Are you for real actually genuinely seriously asking me about my _mother_ while I’m sucking your dick, Barnes?”  
  
    “Sorry.”  
  
Sam sighed, sitting back on his haunches. “We got about 2 hours.”  
  
    “Okay. Okay, good. Hey… c’mere…”  
  
    “Fuck you, man. Don’t use your sexy voice on me, mood’s __gone.” Bucky just grinned sharkishly and pulled Sam on top of him, kissing him hard and desperate.

  
  
The mood came back.  
  
\---  
  
    “Breathe.”  
  
    “I _am_ breathing.”  
  
    “We’re okay. You look great.”  
  
    “So do you,” Bucky said, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. Sam smiled a little shyly, fiddling with the top button of the wine-red shirt Bucky had gotten him for his last birthday. Bucky wasn’t the only one nervous about Sam’s mother finally getting to meet Bucky.  
  
The taxi slowed to a stop, and Bucky’s breaths became shallower. Sam squeezed his hand, urging him to look over at him.  
“Bucky, it’s okay.”  
  
    “Mmngh.”  
  
    “Look at me.” Bucky met his eyes, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he saw all that was unspoken in Sam’s deep brown eyes. _I love you. So much.  
  
_     “Okay. We’re… we’re okay. Let’s go,” Bucky said, rolling his shoulders and opening the car door.  
  
    “Oh-- and you’d better act right. Mama never wanted me bringin’ home any white boys.”  
  
    “What? __What?! ”  
  
  


Sam grinned at Bucky to show he was joking, but Bucky wasn’t able to wipe the look of terror off his face before Sam’s mother yanked open the door and stepped out. True to Sam’s description, she was short and had a delicate face like her son, down to his high cheekbones, large eyes, and a huge gap-toothed smile.   
  
She looked them over, taking her time with Bucky. Her eyes were a slightly lighter brown than Sam’s, but no less keen and intelligent as she gave him the once-over. She only lingered for the briefest of moments on the empty sleeve that was pinned up neatly, spending most of her time examining his face, looking into his eyes. Bucky self-consciously tried to suck in his gut and look as wholesome and well-intentioned as possible.  
  
    “ _Lord_ , what yuh dressed up so for?”  
  
Her voice was a surprise, beautifully soft, but deeper than he’d expect from such a small woman. Her accent was a mixed-up thing from having moved all over the U.S., but her Caribbean heritage shone through most when she was relaxed, in her own home.  
  
    “Mama, how yuh m-- what do you mean, we’re dressed up?” Sam asked, catching himself; he’d slipped back into the half-patois, half-English that he spoke with his family at home. Beside him, Bucky’s eyes widened slightly. He’d never heard Sam speak like that before. It was… strangely sweet; he felt privileged to see this side of Sam, like he’d been trusted with something precious.  
  
    “Eh! Then, child, is a barbecue, not a damn opera,” his mother snorted. She moved towards Bucky, gently placing a hand on his arm.  
“Long time I wanted to meet you, James. My son is a damn fool--”  
  
    “ _Ma_!”  
  
    “--so I hope you can take his hard-headedness.”   
  
Bucky huffed out a laugh, his cheeks burning a little. Darlene gestured to her house, where delicious smells and the sound of loud talking and laughter drifted out invitingly.  
  
    “So! I hope you can take spicy food,” Darlene was saying, looping her arm through Bucky’s as though she’d known him for years.  
  
    “I love spicy food, ma’am.”  
  
    “UH-uh, I not so old yet. ‘Darlene,’ when yuh ready.”  
  
    “How about ‘Miss Darlene’?” Bucky grinned, getting a light slap on the arm in return.  
  
    “‘Miss’ make me sound young, eh? I like this one already…”  
  
  
Sam was being completely ignored by both, and he was caught halfway between pride that his mother had taken to Bucky so easily, and sulking because he was _her_ baby, dammit.  
  
    “Awright, you goan have to play with Lindsay… she got ‘bout 40 of them little Avengers toys, she been talkin’ bout meeting you all day…” Darlene’s voice faded as she ushered Bucky inside.  
“Samuel! Come in and close the door, baby, you lettin’ the AC out!” Darlene aimed an impish grin up at Bucky as she continued, “I don’t know _who_ raised this child so…”  
  
Bucky turned his head and met Sam’s eyes. He had this... look on his face: the smallest, gentlest smile on his lips, his eyes so soft and loving. A deep calm descend over Bucky, even in the midst of a number of people that would usually make him nervous. His own face mimicked Sam’s: _I love you_.  
  
    “I dunno,” he joked, jerking his thumb at Sam as he came inside and closed the door. “He turned out okay.” He leaned down and smirked a little. “I just hope he ages as gracefully as you, Miss Darlene.”  
  
    “ _Barnes, stop flirting with my mother!_ ”  
  
Darlene slapped Bucky’s arm again, still gentle even as she laughed so hard that tears came to her eyes.  
  
    “Sammy!” Sam’s sister broke off from a small group of women to come hug him-- and stopped short at the sight of Bucky.   
  
“Eh-eh, why y’all dress-up so? You goin’ opera?”  
  
Darlene’s laughter rang through the house, adding to the loud, lively, almost overwhelming noise of Sam’s extended family. It was the sound of a Sunday-afternoon barbecue. It was the sound of love.

 


End file.
